


Happy Birthday

by Ohhhmyloki



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avenger Loki (Marvel), Avengers Tower, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation in Shower, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Post-Avengers (2012), Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-24 05:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17698463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohhhmyloki/pseuds/Ohhhmyloki
Summary: You live in the tower and work for the Avengers. Loki Laufeyson has been trying to seduce you for months, but you're too stubborn to give in...until you have an especially awful birthday.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For @lokispettiger. Happy Birthday! 
> 
> ...also, I didn't purposely publish this right before Tom's birthday, but it does seem fortuitous, doesn't it?

You and the God of Mischief have a mutual attraction--have had for months. But you resist it because Loki is a dick. He likes to fuck with you. Embarass you. Mocks you constantly.

But he also lurks around waiting for opportunities to corner you unexpectedly, and then he cages you in with his body and just looks at you, radiating lust and amusement. He likes the scared look you give him. The way your voice trembles when you tell him to stop. The way you flush.

He knows you want him.

One day after a mission, you come back exhausted and beat up. He follows you into the locker room without your knowledge. You dont know he's there until you turn under the spray and see him standing just outside the open shower stall, watching you.

He says nothing. Just leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. You're so beat you dont even react. It’s been one of the worst days on the job. You don't have the energy to tell him off, or even to get embarrassed. So you just stare at him, water running down your body, washing blood and grime into the drain.

His gaze dips from your face, slides down, down. Lingers on your breasts, and then lower. Your hips. Your thighs....

He's waiting for something, but you don't know what, and looking at him makes your heart start to pound, so you turn your back. You know it's stupid--never turn your back on a predator--but you don't care. You're so damned tired.

You don't even hear him come into the stall. His feet make no sound on the tiled floor. He's just suddenly there, right behind you. You look down, water poiring over your head, and you can see his feet. They're bare. But his legs are still encased in black leather.  His arm appears beside your shoulder, reaches past you for the soap on the shelf above the faucet knobs. His arm is bare, too.

He takes the washcloth. Plucks it from your nerveless fingers. And then he's washing you. Slowly. Soapy cloth sliding down your spine. He's standing so close you can feel the energy coming off his body. You shiver, despite yourself. The cloth circles your lower back. Slips around your hip. Slides over your belly and back up. Slowly, slowly. You're breathing hard now. Heart pounding. Your breasts are tingling. Your pussy, too. You close your eyes. And then you hear the washcloth hit the floor with a wet plop.

You let go a big, shuddering breath and shift back without thinking. For a moment you're flush against the front of his body.

He takes it as the unconscious invitation it is. His hand turns upward, cups your breast, squeezes, fingers gliding over wet flesh to stroke your nipple. You feel it get hard under his fingers. Pleasure bolts straight from his touch down to your womb. His other hand touches your hip. Pulls you back harder against him. His cock is like an iron rod against your ass.

You're dizzy, suddenly. You realize you haven't been breathing and suck in a breath.

His other hand joins in, and he's cupping both breasts now, lifting, squeezing. Making you burn. You press back against him again--on purpose this time--because it feels so damned good. His body is hard, his skin smooth. The hair on his lower belly tickles the small of your back.

Stupid, you think distantly. Don't give in.

But then his mouth is open and wet on your shoulder. You can feel his hair brushing your ear. He's pulling on your nipples now and you look down because it makes your breath catch--it feels so good it almost hurts.

The sight of his long fingers manipulating your breasts has you shuddering. Your nipples are dark and  distended between his pale fingertips.

“Loki,” you croak, summoning the very last of your reason. You mean to protest. It really is stupid to let yourself be seduced by the God of Mischief, and you know it. But no protest forms on your tongue. His touch is fucking divine, and this has been one of the worst days of your life.

Not to mention it's your birthday. You deserve to feel good, you reason. Even if you end up regretting it later.

His right hand is slipping down over your belly, into the hair over your mons. He pauses with his fingertips just brushing the top of your slit. “Yes?” he rumbles, and you're confused. Then you remember--you said his name just a moment ago.

You open your mouth to respond, but his fingers are mere centimeters from your throbbing clit, and you can't remember what you'd meant to say.

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmurs, as though he's very sure of your answer.

Oh, right.

“You--” the word comes out hoarse. His left hand is still caressing your breast, plucking the nipple. Rolling it obscenely.

You cough once and try again. “You're taking advantage,” you manage, and it's almost a whisper.

“I am,” he agrees darkly. The fingers of his right hand dip lower and trace the outer lips of your sex, following the seam where they meet. “And you didn't answer me.”

Your mouth is filling with saliva. You swallow convulsively. _Say no_ , you tell yourself. _Tell him to stop_.

It's perfunctory, though. You don't want him to stop. You want to feel good. You _need_ to feel good right now.

One of his fingers nudges into the seam of your sex. The pad of it comes to rest very lightly over your clit. You can feel your body welling with liquid arousal. If he pushes just a little further, he'll feel it, too.

But he doesn't.

He's waiting for your rejection, you realize. Or, rather, your permission. He clearly expects you to give it.

His cock twitches against your ass.

Some lingering sense of self preservation makes you say, “This is unfair.” It comes out weak, though. He's kissing your neck, using his tongue. Slow and wet.

“Is it?” he murmurs, mouth gliding up toward your ear. He palms your breast and gives it a slow, sensuous squeeze. His finger on your clit presses inward just a hair, producing a quick, electric stab of pleasure.

“I'm giving you plenty of time to refuse me,” he goes on, cupping and pressing and making your whole body tingle with pleasure. “I even asked you directly, but you're being terribly evasive.”

 _Bastard_. “You're making it very h-hard to say no,” you say breathily.

“That’s the idea,” he purrs as his finger slips deeper into your sex, gliding over your clit and making you gasp.

Your hips snap forward and the movement puts his finger right at the opening of your sex. Just as quickly, you pull back, flushing with embarrassment, but his hips are there to stop you. His left hand abandons your breast and grabs your waist, and he's using his lower body to hold you like that, with your hips angled forward.

Another long finger joins the one slipping through the wetness at the mouth of your sex. He makes a low sound of pleasure as he tests the little opening.

“I’ll make this easy for you,” he murmurs. “Since you seem to be conflicted.” His fingers glide up to your clit again, circling it slowly. “I'd like to make you come. Now. With my fingers.”

The pleasure of his touch is so intense that you've begun to tremble. You want to say yes. The word is clinging to your lips. You swallow it by sheer force of will and blurt, “Then what?”

He chuckles, fingers slowly swirling around your clit. Too slow to bring you--too little pressure. But it's enough to make your pussy swell and pulse and weep with need.

“Then I let you go, “ he answers in that midnight purr. “And if you should feel inclined to reciprocate…” he trails off, flexing his cock against you.

You think about saying no again--mostly because you don't want to give him the satisfaction. But the fact is, he's offering pleasure with no strings attached. You don't know why, but you believe him when he says he'll let you go.

“Okay,” you say, low and breathy.

His hand stills. “Okay?”

You nod, heart pounding. Pussy pulsing with anticipation.

“Oh, pet,” he murmurs, pulling you back hard against his body, “This is going to be so sweet.”

His fingers dip down again, penetrating you this time, his other hand moving back to your breasts, stroking them both with palpable hunger.

You jerk in his arms as the pleasure spikes. His fingers make your pussy ache for something bigger. Deeper. But they don't linger inside. He returns to your clit and starts circling it again, pressing harder, rolling the slick little ball under the pads of his first three digits.

His mouth his on you ear. He's sucking the lobe, making guttural sounds of pleasure.

“You're so hot here,” he breathes, abandoning your clit to penetrate you again, with three fingers this time. You gasp loudly, the sound echoing against the tiled walls. “So wet for me,” he growls, pumping his fingers, curling them inside you. Making you gasp and whimper.

He switches back and forth for a while, rubbing your clit until you start to shake with oncoming orgasm, then fucking you with his fingers very slowly.

“Are you imagining this is my cock?” he asks, voice dark with arousal as his fingers fill you once more. “I am.”

You tighten involuntarily on those penetrating digits, floored by the words, by the velvet rumble of his voice against your ear. You're panting now, gasping for breath, body thrumming from head to toe.

“You're tight,” he growls, “I can almost feel your little pussy gripping my cock. Stretching around me. Sopping wet...” He’s grinding against your ass as he says it. His teeth graze your shoulder, free hand rising to circle your throat very lightly. “I want to press you up against the wall and fuck you right here,” he growls. “Feel you come on my cock. Make you scream with it.”

You moan--you can't help it. The images and sensations his words evoke are almost too much to bear. Just when you think you're going to come around his fingers, he withdraws them and returns to your clit. The ball of nerves feels huge and hard under his touch. You're leaning all your weight back against his body, letting him hold you, hips thrust forward.

You look down as he growls, “Come for me, sweet girl,” and the sight of his hand between your legs--those long, pale digits buried in your folds--pushes you right over the edge.

You cry out--low and ragged, bucking in his grip, grabbing hold of his arm and digging your nails in as you thrust against his still-moving fingers.

The pleasure is unbelievable. Incendiary. You're sobbing with it, begging wordlessly for more. Grinding against his hand in total, shameless abandon.

When it's over and you sag against him, he takes his hand away, splays his fingers over your belly, and purrs hoarsely against your cheek, “Delicious girl. That was good. I nearly came myself, there at the end.”

The words make you twitch and flush, womb still contracting in the aftermath of what might have been the best orgasm of your life.

His words are still echoing in your head.

_I can almost feel your little pussy gripping my cock. Stretching around me. Sopping wet …_

The pleasure has stripped away all your resistance. You don't care anymore that he's bested you. That this probably means nothing to him. You want him. His cock is currently nestled against your ass. It feels huge, alive. Impossibly hard.

_I want to press you up against the wall and fuck you right here...Feel you come on my cock. Make you scream with it ._

“Do it,” you rasp, head still lolling against his shoulder.

“Do what?” he murmurs, kissing your neck again, but idly this time. Affectionately.

The tenderness of it surprises you--makes you feel...vulnerable.

“Fuck me,” you say, hoping it will chase those tender feelings away.

Loki stills behind you. His hand is still resting lightly around your throat. His grip tightens just a bit.

There is a moment of incredible, electric stillness as he processes what you've just said.

And then…

In a flash you're pressed flat to the cold, tiled wall. Loki is growling into your hair, one hand between your shoulder blades, holding you in place, the other fumbling between your body and his, knuckles brushing your ass.

"Contraceptives," he growls.

"I'm on the p-pill."

He makes that gutteral sound of satisfaction and presses his naked groin against you, growling again as the big shaft slips into the crease of your ass. And then he's pulling your hips back with one hand and the head of his cock is slipping down, nudging you. Searching. Stretching the entrance to your body.

You make a sound--half gasp and half sob--as he thrusts inside, straight to base.

“Holy _shit_ ," you whimper, filled to the brim.

Loki's cock is crowding the mouth of your womb, stretching you so hard you feel _skewered_. And it's twitching inside you--jumping and pulsing.

He molds himself to your back and rests there, breathing hard into your hair, not moving.

“Did...you come?” you manage, cheek to the tiles, pussy flexing as it tries to accommodate him.

“No,” he growls.

And then he withdraws a little, rocks forward again, makes you gasp and shudder.

“Bloody hell and all the Fates,” he rasps almost angrily. He thrusts again. Slowly. Deeply. “You're so tight it's like fucking a wet fist.”

You moan as he hits bottom again.

“I'm going to come,” he rumbles, pumping slowly. “And when I do, I'm going to ride you nice and hard. You ready?”

Vibrating with anticipation, you manage a nod.

He makes a gratified sound--a wordless thank you--and then he starts pumping faster. And harder. And faster.

It hurts. Makes your insides gush with pleasure. It makes you mindless--your whole consciousness gripped by the sensation of him. His big cock sawing inside you, kissing your cervix at the peak of every thrust. Stretching you. Making your pussy ache and burn.

“Ah!” he gasps, thrusts coming faster. “Allfather... _Gods!_ You're sucking me.”

“Coming,” you whimper, and Loki makes a sound like a snarl, only it isn't angry, it's  pleased. A deep, primitive expression of masculine satisfaction.

His teeth sink into the back of your neck and your hands are scrabbling against the wet tiles as the orgasm gathers, bursting inside you like an enormous molten bubble.

The sound he makes when your pussy seizes around him is so deep--so incredibly erotic--that your orgasm seems to redouble, and you scream as the pleasure wracks you.

Loki is coming too, you realize--his thrusts are practically battering you against the wall, and his cock seems to grow even larger inside you.

He slams it straight to the base and cries out with orgasm. The sensation of him spasming against your back--of his cock jerking inside you--nearly brings you all over again.

You don't remember anything after that--the exhaustion finally swamps you--until you wake up in bed to a dark room and the murmur of the TV.

It's your room. Four floors up from the locker rooms. Did Loki _carry_ you?

You turn your head and he's there only inches away, sitting up against the headboard, shirtless and pale in the glow from the television.

He looks down at you, eyes glittering in the dark room. “You passed out,” he says, slightly accusatory.

You blink at him. Is he angry about that?

“I was tired,” you rasp. “Exhausted from the mission.”

He frowns, looks away. “I realize that now.”

There's an edge of regret under that tone of resentment. Is he sorry he fucked you? Your heart thumps, considering the possibility that he actually cares.

You don't want him to be sorry though, you realize.

“It was good,” you say softly, voice trembling just a bit.

He looks down at you again, gaze sparking with lust. “It certainly was.”

There's a stretch of silence as you look at each other, and then he's tossing the covers back, moving over you, long, muscular legs bracketing your thighs.

You're still naked.

Your heart starts pounding again as he settles, braced over you on extended arms. The look on his face is dark with erotic intent.

“I'd like to make you come again,” he murmurs. “With your permission, of course.”

Your insides clench at the words. You ache where he penetrated you before--a dull throb deep inside your sex.

“I'm not sure--” you begin.

“Gently,” he interrupts. The word is fantastically deep and silky. “ _Slowly_.”

You feel yourself growing wet. Loki bends to you, eyes hooded, lips parting.

He's going to kiss you. He hasn't done that yet. For some reason it makes your heart pound harder than ever.

His mouth grazes yours. A silky glide of lips, the barest brush of his tongue, hot and slick. You open your mouth and he groans as his tongue slips inside.

His kiss is slow and fluid, penetrating, utterly intoxicating. And it goes on for a long time, until you're vibrating with arousal, frustrated that he isn't touching you--that his hands haven't found your naked breasts again. That he's not doing anything with the erection resting heavily against your mons.

Finally, you touch it, fingers gliding over tight leather, tracing the broad shaft from base to tip. He tilts his hips back to give you better access and then makes a low, eager sound into your mouth when you go straight for the button of his fly.

A moment later you're wrapping your hand around his naked cock. It's smooth. Incredibly stiff. He groans when you stroke the rounded head, kiss faltering.

He breaks away when your other hand joins the party, lifts himself to look down at you stroking him.

And then his gaze shifts to your breasts. He bends to take one into his mouth and you gasp. His lips are so soft, mouth hot and wet, drawing expertly on your nipple. Pleasure arcs down your body, welling between your legs.  

Your heart leaps when he pushes your hands away and guides himself between the lips of your sex. The pressure of his cock pushing inside makes you moan.

Loki stops immediately, releasing your breast to look at you and rasp, “It hurts?”

Breathing jaggedly, you nod. His gaze shifts to his cock, angled between your closed legs. The head is only just inside. If feels huge--even bigger than before. You can feel his pulse there. Or maybe it's yours.

And it really does hurt--you feel almost raw inside. Bruised and tender. But you don't want him to stop.

“You're wet,” he says quietly, one hand gliding over the breast he'd been sucking, fingers catching on the hardened nipple before continuing down your body, over your belly, your pelvis. His thumb finds your clit and strokes it once, slowly. “But you could be wetter.”

The promise is those words makes you shudder with anticipation.

You're startled when he pulls out--you make an involuntary sound of protest. He glances up at you with blatant gratification, but he's already moving down your body, straddling your shins now, lowering his mouth towards your pussy.

Jesus. The God of Mischief is going to suck you.

You're not sure why you're surprised--why the thought of Loki giving you head is such a thrill--but you don't have time to sort it out. His mouth is already there, drawing on the lips of your sex, tongue penetrating, rolling around your clit in a searing, liquid kiss.

It feels so good you can't stop yourself writhing under him, lifting to his mouth, tangling your hands in his silky black hair.

He brings you right to the edge in just a handful of minutes and then stops. Looks up your body at you. “Like this?” he asks, so low it's almost inaudible. “Or shall I fuck you again?”

Without thinking, you shake your head. He smiles, eyes dark with amused understanding. You want his mouth and his cock. Your brain has gone to mush.

He lowers his head. Sucks you right to the edge of orgasm again and stops, watching your body settle as the pleasure bleeds away. And then he does it all over again. And again.

And again.

Finally you cry, “Please.”

“Please, what?” he says against your sex, tongue delving.

You can feel his erection pressed into your leg. His pants are still open and he's twitching against you.

“Cock,” you rasp, because you can't think of anything else.

“Mmm,” he purrs.

And then he's rising over you to straddle your hips.

You try to open your legs because you want him between them, but he pushes you down.

“No. Like this,” he says, using his legs to hold yours together, cock pushing into your wetness again. Stretching you.

You moan, but it doesn't hurt so much this time. You're slick. He glides inside easily. Deeply. Making that same sound of pleasure, dark as midnight.

It's not deep enough, though. You can't feel him at your womb like the last time. And you want him there. Want to feel him filling you to the brim again.

“Shhh,” he says, when you whimper and lift yourself to him, trying to draw him straight to your core. “It won't hurt so much this way.”

He's thrusting already, slow and deliberate, ignoring the way you struggle beneath him in your blind hunger to feel his cock touching bottom.

“Don't care,” you gasp. “Deeper.”

“Shhh,” he says again, and the sound has an unmistakable warmth to it. It's there on his face as well, mingled with lust and pleasure. Affection.

You clutch at him--at his hips, his muscled torso. His affection makes you wild. Elated.

You're already on the edge, pleasure pulsing with his gentle thrusts. Rising and swelling with the slow, rhythmic glide of his cock inside you.

“So big,” you gasp.

“Mmm.” He smiles, moves a little faster, watching your face, your breasts. Holding your hips all the while, so you can't struggle--can't lift yourself to him.

The orgasm is right there, vibrating along your nerve endings, enormous, searing. It breaks in a slow, burning wave and you buck in his grip, groaning raggedly. He rides you out, gaze trained on your face now, thrusting steadily, elongating your pleasure.

Your clutching hands turn to clawing ones. You rake your nails over his hips, trying to urge him into a faster rhythm. He grunts, his grip on you tightening. And then he does move faster. Rides you good and hard for the space of a few breathless seconds as the orgasm reaches its peak and you lose all awareness. There's nothing but his cock moving inside you--his cock and the pleasure, breaking you apart.

When you come back to yourself he's pumping hard and fast, head thrown back, throat working around a guttural moan as he pours his orgasm into your body. You make yourself tighten, wanting to please him. Wanting his pleasure to be as consuming as yours.

He cries out, and then growls with renewed aggression, thrusting so hard he does hit bottom a few times. The pain is startling, deep. But you don't care, because he looks so goddamn beautiful spasming over you, lost in his pleasure, pale body limned with light and shadow, flexing and trembling.

When it's over he slumps forward on extended arms again, hair hanging, obscuring his face. He's panting heavily, cock still twitching inside you. And the sight of him--Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, gutted by the pleasure you've given him--is so utterly gratifying that you feel a fresh wave of desire.

He feels it too, in the way you flex around him. He looks up sharply, eyes glittering.

“Already?” he rasps. “Wicked girl.” And there it is again, that affection in his eyes, in his voice.

Your heart flutters.

But he draws away, cock slipping free of your body.

You make a small sound of protest when he rises from the bed. He gives you a quelling look and crosses to the bathroom, buttoning his fly as he goes.

A moment later he's back and there's a damp cloth in his hand. He settles beside you very close and starts to clean you up, cloth gliding gently over tender skin.

Suddenly, rather belatedly, you're nervous. You don't know what he's thinking, what any of this means to him. Before, you honestly believed he saw you as nothing more than an amusement. Maybe a conquest. You hated the idea of giving into him for exactly that reason.

But the affection...it confuses you, makes you feel muddled. Hopeful and anxious at once.

“You should sleep,” he murmurs, when he's done cleaning you.

You say nothing. He gets up, slowly, as though reluctant to leave you. Standing beside the bed, he gazes down at you for a moment as you draw the blankets up over yourself.

“Do you mind if I shower?” he asks quietly.

Your heart leaps. Does he want to stay? He wouldn't ask to use your shower otherwise, would he? He would just go back to his own room and shower there.

“No,” you mumble. “Go ahead.”

He gives you a look before he turns away, eyes dark with gratitude, lips curving ever-so-slightly. Like he knows what you're thinking. You smile a little, too, because you're ridiculously happy that he's here. That he's being so...nice.

You watch him walk to the bathroom door and reach in to switch on the light. The shower stall is visible behind him as he glances back.

“Happy birthday,” he murmurs smugly.

Your mouth drops open in shock. You haven't told anyone. How did he…?

But before you can respond he goes into the bathroom and turns on the shower. Then he steps back from the stall and starts opening his trousers.

He's not going to close the door, you realize, flushing. And the shower stall is clear glass.

He strips off his trousers and stands there in profile, totally naked, testing the water with one hand. The fluorescent lights make his skin glow white and pick up the deep blue tones in the curls caressing his broad shoulders. He's so gorgeous that it makes you ache.

You watch him step into the stall, and you keep on watching until the glass is so fogged that he's just a pale silhouette, and then you fall asleep thinking about him.

You surface again from a formless dream to the sensation of Loki sliding naked into your bed, skin cool and slightly damp.

Without thinking, you roll towards him and nestle happily into his body, and he folds himself around you without hesitation.  

He makes a sound as you settle--half sigh and half hum of pleasure--and his hand slips down your back.

“Thank you,” you mumble against the base of his throat, sleep dragging at your consciousness.

“For what?” he rumbles.

“Birthday,” you sigh, already drifting away. “So good.”

The last sounds you hear as you drop off to sleep are his low chuckle and a deep, indolent murmur.

“You're welcome.”


	2. Chapter 2

You sleep like the dead, which you kind of regret in the morning because Loki is gone when you wake. You're not surprised, but there's a definite twinge of disappointment. You didn't really get to enjoy him sleeping next to you, and you're not at all sure it's ever going to reoccur.

Okay, it's more than disappointment. It's hurt.

You can still see that look in his eyes. Feel him kissing your neck with lazy affection. And he'd cuddled you. He clearly likes you, so why didn't he stay?

As you rise from the bed, your mind starts churning out rationalizations.

Maybe he just wants you to think he likes you. Maybe this is some playful manipulation for his own entertainment. It wouldn't be the first time. Loki really does like to jerk people around.

You cross your small apartment naked, step into the kitchen and turn on the coffee maker, then head into the bathroom, mind spinning.

Maybe he just didn't want to deal with the morning after stuff...it probably isn't his strong suit. He's not very good with intimacy, or with honest emotion. He'd caught you crying in the breakroom once, after your very first mission, and he'd looked at you like you had some kind of leprosy.

Or... maybe he just set out to fuck you and now that he's gotten what he wanted, he's not interested anymore.

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror for the first time, angry now--

\--and nearly drop the toothbrush you've just slathered in paste.

Holy shit.

You're _covered_ in bruises. Your lips and nipples are dark, swollen. Your hips are marked with bright purple fingerprints. There are faint bruises on your neck and chest as well, where he sucked you. Little red half moons on your throat and collar bone from his teeth.

You start to feel the aches in your body, suddenly--the tenderness in your breasts and between your legs. Deep inside, your cervix is throbbing dully.

Loki hasn't just fucked you--he's practically brutalized you.

And it was the best goddamn sex of your life.

You flash back on his face as he bowed over you that last time, lost in his orgasm.

You're pretty sure it was good for him, too. Really good.

Good enough for a repeat.

 _No, no. Bad idea_.

Anyway, he's a god. And he's over a thousand years old. Maybe mind blowing sex is totally common place for him. Maybe he's always that passionate and intense.

Maybe he has sex like that with every woman he takes to bed.

The thought makes you burn with unwanted jealousy--and a generous twinge of humiliation. You’ve been standing here staring at yourself in the mirror for a good 5 minutes with the toothbrush poised midway to your mouth, thinking about Loki.

 _Fuck_.

One night with the bastard and you're tying yourself in fucking knots over him.

You decide at that moment that you are not going to start obsessing over the God of Mischief.

 _We had sex_ , you tell yourself firmly, brushing your teeth with unnecessary force. _Really amazing, mind-blowing, utterly meaningless sex. That's it._

You bend and spit angrily into the sink, then glare at yourself for a moment as you turn the cold water on to rinse out the basin.

 _I didn't expect more than sex yesterday_ , you tell yourself, _and I'm not going to start hoping for more now._

You will not start over analyzing every little thing he does, trying to figure out what's going on in his head.

Done. You're done.

Nodding once decisively, you turn away from the mirror and crank the hot water on in the shower. You can smell Loki on your skin and you want to be rid of him and all the jumbled, tremulous, _totally unwanted_ feelings he inspires.

...

  
Half an hour later you're headed down to the cafeteria for a quick breakfast. Then you're going off compound to meet with a friend. It’s your day off and you want to get away from Stark Tower and any possibility of running into the God of Mischief. You figure the cafeteria is a safe stop because you eat there almost every day and you've never seen Loki step foot inside.

You're right. You don't see Loki in the cafeteria, or in the halls, or anywhere else.

You don't see him on the way back in that evening, either. In fact, you don't see him at all for three whole days.

You've never gone three days without running into Loki before. Usually you bump into him at least twice a day. In one of the conference rooms, or an office, the lounge, the gym, the locker room, the hallways.

You try your best not to care, but by the end of the third day you are--quite hypocritically--pissed.

The God of Mischief is avoiding you.

You can't believe it.

Of all the unfavorable terms you could truthfully apply to Loki's character, “coward” has never been among them. Until now.

What possible reason could he have to avoid you? Does he expect you to embarrass yourself somehow? Throw yourself at him?

Wait.

No. _No_ , you are not going to spend any more of your time thinking about that egotistical prick! He can take his enormous cock and his silky white skin and his ridiculous velvet voice and he can rot in hell, for all you care.

At least, that's what you tell yourself as you slam your locker shut after a long day of training.

But you're not sure you actually believe it.

By the time you're in the elevator heading up to your apartment, you’ve called him every bad name you can think of--in your head, of course. Then you realize you've left your security badge back in the locker room, four floors down. You need it to open the door to your apartment.

And guess who's waiting for you when you get back to the locker room?

The God of Assholes and Idiocy.

He's perched on a bench against the wall opposite your locker, leaning back, long legs stretched out, arms and ankles crossed, wearing his signature black-on-black suit.

There's no one else around.

He smiles when you appear, lips curving just a bit. Smug.

You stop dead when you see him. And you say nothing. Suddenly you can't summon a single word. Because you're not mad anymore. To your utter dismay, all your temper fled the moment you laid eyes on him.

You missed him.

Fuck. You _really_ missed him.

“How are you?” he drawls, green eyes glittering.

Again, you say nothing. Your throat feels like it's in a vice.

 _Oh, no. This is bad. This is very bad_.

He's watching you closely. You wonder what he can see on your face. Because you're having a terrible, _terrible_ realization. It's bubbling up inside you like boiling water. Scalding. Impossible to deny.

Your eyes start to burn.

“You insufferable _prick_.”

The words shock you. You hadn't planned to say them. Much less with such emotion.

Loki doesn't seem startled though. One of his brows twitches upward.

His mouth opens, but you're already turning away, marching blindly towards the exit, burning with humiliation. Your eyes are watering.

Three steps later you remember what you came down here for. Heart filling with dread, you turn--and nearly slam into Loki's chest.

His sudden proximity has your heart jumping up into your throat. His scent washes over you, bringing with it a series of images and sensations that heat you from head to toe.

Memories of his touch, his body. The pleasure he gave you.

Loki is looking down at you with narrowed eyes. The possession in that look makes your heart flip. Without thinking, you step back.

He holds up one hand. Your badge is dangling from his fingers.

Relieved, you reach for it.

He jerks it away without moving his gaze from your face.

“Give it to me,” you snap, reaching again.

Again, he pulls it away.

“Goddammit, Loki!”

He puts the hand behind his back and when you meet his steady gaze he murmurs, “Have I offended you?”

“You know damned well you have,” you hiss, face burning. “Now give me my badge!”

His narrow gaze is stripping you down. Not sexually--it feels like he's looking straight into your head. Reading you like a book.

“I'm confused,” he drawls, looking exactly the opposite. “Perhaps you can explain to me why--”

“I'm not explaining anything,” you snarl, knowing you're being an idiot. Making a big deal of something you ought to be brushing off. He's going to _know_. And then your humiliation will be complete.

He says your name, low and reproachful. Like he's gently chastising a small child.

Humiliating.

Your eyes start to tear again. “Just give me the fucking badge.”

That perpetual hint of amusement finally leaves his face.

“You're crying,” he mutters, sounding irritated. “Why are you crying?”

_Because I'm an idiot._

You stare at his chest--at the narrow black tie and his crisp lapels--and struggle not to let the tears escape.

“Are you upset that I left you?” he asks, and you're surprised that he doesn't sound bored, or smug, or dismissive in the slightest.

Your heart does a funny little hiccough. Still, you don't look at him.

“You were nice,” you mutter. “You shouldn't have been so nice.”

He says nothing to this nonsensical proclamation. Instead he steps a little closer. One of his hands rises toward your face. He brushes your hair back behind your shoulder and touches your collar bone, tugs the neckline of your shirt aside so he can see the spot where he bit you three nights ago.

You should smack his hand away, but you don't. You can't make yourself do it. You want his touch too badly.

“I left you covered in bruises,” he murmurs, gaze dark on the little blemish. “I knew humans were delicate, but you…” He bends slowly and you stand paralyzed as he kisses the fading mark. “You're soft as a peach.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Loki's hair tickles your cheek as he straightens.

“I believe it’s customary on Earth for the man to wait three days before initiating contact after a liaison,” he goes on, caressing your neck now, light and feathery. “I thought it best to give you that time to recover, anyway.”

Paralysis suddenly broken, you push him back a bit so you can see his face clearly. “You're telling me you completely avoided me for three days because you wanted to give me time to _recover_?”

He's looking at your mouth. “Mm-hm.”

When he starts to bend down you surprise yourself by pushing him back again, both hands on his chest. He hardly budges, but at least he stops trying to kiss you and looks you in the eye.

“You actually expect me to believe that, Loki? And you expect me to fuck you again? Just like that?”

It's a bluff and you know it. You're already tingling--despite your other, less than charitable feelings--growing wet at the thought that he still wants you.

But Loki is frowning at you, green gaze sparking with irritation. “You are so contradictory,” he grumbles. “Soft as a kitten one minute and fiery the next. Tough and then tender. I can hardly keep up.”

There it is again, mingled with his irritation, but still unmistakeable.

 _Affection_.

Your heart gives another traitorous hiccough, but you're still angry, confused.

“You like me,” you say, hands fisting in his lapels. “Say it.”

Now his frown is all bemusement. “Of course I like you. Why else would I take you to bed and then avoid you for three days?”

You close your eyes. “Do you actually hear yourself right now?”

Loki's arms curl around your waist and your eyes snap open again. He pulls you slowly toward his body until you're resting against him, belly to belly. Chest to chest.

You let him, with only minor reluctance.

He licks his lips, looking down at you, expression gone sultry. When he speaks his voice is midnight velvet. “I stayed until morning, you know. I meant to have you again. To wake you with lovemaking. But I was too rough with you that night.” His expression flickers with regret--there and the gone again in an instant. “Still,” he continues, “I wanted you. I couldn't lie there beside you without…” he trails off, gazing at your mouth again. And then he shrugs. “So I left.”

Your heart is beating so hard that when you speak it comes out a little airy. “That still doesn't explain why you avoided me.”

The heat in his gaze is joined by amusement. “Doesn't it?”

It takes you a moment to connect the dots. When you do, you blink up at him incredulously.

“You're telling me you avoided me because you we afraid you'd fuck me again? For real, Loki?”

Your disbelief seems to irritate him.

“Six months you made me wait,” he growls, arms tightening around your waist. “Six months of unresolved lust. And when you finally let me fuck you, it's like--” he breaks off, shaking his head. “Are all Midgardian women like that in bed?”

Your heart flutters, face heating. “No, I-- _Wait_. Have you never slept with a human before?”

He gives you his signature princely look of disdain. “Of course not. Gods do not dally with mortals--” his expression turns wry, “--Except when one is stranded on a mortal planet for nearly a decade.”

You're so floored you can't even summon a response. Should you be insulted or flattered?

“Thor dated that scientist, though,” you say, for lack of a better response.

He rolls his eyes. “Thor is an idiot.”

You almost laugh. “What does that make you?”

“A man with exceptional taste in women,” he replies, not missing a beat. “Mortality notwithstanding.”

You do laugh then, and he smiles a slow, genuine smile. Then he bends down to kiss you.

“You could have called me or something,” you mumble, heart pounding as his mouth brushes yours.

It's a perfunctory statement, though, and Loki ignores it.

He sighs when you open for him and kisses you slowly, tongue tracing your teeth and then the roof of your mouth. Lips gliding, mouth slanting over yours so that he can penetrate you deeply. When he withdraws you find yourself following his tongue, not wanting it to end.

“So sweet,” he murmurs against your lips. And then, much to your pleasure, he comes back for more.

You're lost to it for a few minutes--until you feel something very hard against your back and realize he has you up against the locker room door.

His hips come forward to pin you there. The sensation of his erection pressing into your belly makes you gasp.

Loki makes a very familiar sound--low and rumbling. It's the sound he made last time when he pinned you against the shower wall and buried his cock inside you.

You can't help but shudder. Your body produces a gush of heat and wetness.

“I didn't plan to fuck you here,” he breathes, mouth trailing toward your ear. His hands are opening your jeans, pushing them down around your hips.

“Loki,” you protest weakly. _Is this really happening again? Am I letting this happen again_?

_Oh, who am I kidding?_

His hand is inside your panties. You arch into him without thinking, giving him access, opening for his fingers.

He groans when they sink inside. “Still tight,” he murmurs, voice a little strained. “I should have stretched you better that first time. But you were so hot...so wet for me.”

His fingers squelch audibly as he pushes them further inside you.

“Wait,” you whimper hips jerking, summoning the last dregs of your reason. “N-not here, remember?”

He pauses. His mouth is in your hair, breath hot against your ear.

“Once here,” he murmurs. “And then I take you to bed again.”

His voice is thick with lust. He's not entirely in control of himself, you realize. But neither are you.

“Be gentle,” you manage to say, body thrumming with arousal. “I'm n-not waiting another three days to do this again.”

He makes a low growling noise of agreement and slips another finger inside you.  

“That's three,” he says against the crook of your neck. His fingers flex, spreading you open. “Does it hurt?”

“N-no,” you say, clutching his shoulders, body burning. “Hurry, Loki.”

“Hurrying is what got me in trouble the first time,” he answers, taking up a slow, penetrating rhythm with his hand. “Now, squeeze me.”

You flex around his fingers and he purrs. “Good. Again.”

Pussy buzzing with pleasure, you comply.

“Tighter,” he commands, tongue tracing your collar bone.

“I want to touch _you_ ,” you breath, but you obediently clutch his fingers with your sex.

“Not yet. Keep squeezing.”

“Loki…”

“If I let you take my cock out now, I'm going to put it inside you,” he growls. “Now, ride my hand.”

Breath turning ragged, you begin ride him, rotating your hips in a fluid undulation that has Loki pulling back to watch, lips parted, green eyes dark with lust.

“Fates, that's good,” he rasps, gaze trained on his hand between your legs.

You look down too, but you want to see him, so you let go of his shoulders to open his suit jacket.

“Kitten,” he says roughly. It's a warning--which you ignore.

His big cock is straining at the fly of those expensive black trousers. You cup it with one hand and he growls.

When you unbuckle his belt he says sharply, “Don't.”

“I want to suck you.”

His eyes flare with lust. “I said not yet.”

When your fingers close on the button of his fly he pulls back and his hand leaves you.

Immediately, you ache to have him inside you again. His fingers, his cock, his tongue, you don't care. You take hold of his hips to pull him to you, but he twists away and starts peeling your jeans and underwear down your legs, crouching, looking up at you as he slips your shoes off.

Oh God, he's going to suck you again. You can see the intent in his eyes. You shudder as he kneels at your feet, tossing your jeans aside. He leans in for your sex.

“Loki--” you protest weakly. “Someone might come in.”

Without looking, he reaches up and flips the lock on the door.

_Oh. Right._

And then his mouth is on you, tongue between your folds. He suckles gently, eyes closed, black lashes stark against his pale cheeks. He laps at your clit. Circles it. Flicks it. And then his hand is there again, nudging your legs apart so he can penetrate you, stretch you.

“Four,” he purrs, filling you up, spreading those long appendages inside you until it does hurt just a little.

But you can feel yourself adjusting. Widening to accept him, growing wetter.

His soft lips close on your clit and hold it. Then he's teasing it with the tip of his tongue. Rapid little flicks. His fingers are angled inside you, curling against _that_ spot, just inside.

“Now,” you whisper, as an orgasm gathers between his mouth and his fingers. “Please.”

Loki stands and your hands tangle with his as you reach for his fly. He lets you do it--braces his arms on either side of your shoulders as you free his cock and stroke it with both hands.

“I still want to suck you.”

He shakes his head, watching you stroke him. And then he's lifting your leg, hooking it over his hip. “Guide me,” he rasps.

You do it, promising yourself that you'll taste him afterwards, when he takes you upstairs.

Loki releases a long, shuddering breath as your body accepts him. You can't breathe at all. It doesn't hurt this time, but you're still impossibly stretched--still filled to the brim. You'd almost forgotten this delicious feeling of being skewered, possesed. Loki's presence in your body is utterly overwhelming.

His hands are on your breasts as he begins to thrust, palming you through bra and shirt. Pushing the fabric up and then pulling the cups down until your nipples pop free. And then he starts sucking them.

You give yourself over to it completely, lifting your breasts to his mouth, rolling your hips into every thrust, taking him straight to the hilt.

“Be still,” he groans, eyelids fluttering down as he hits bottom and makes you whimper. “It won't hurt if you let me…” he takes hold of your hips, tilting them back to make the penetration more shallow, sparing your cervix. “There, like that.”

“But I like it,” you gasp, pulling him closer. Tilting your hips again.

“What happened to ‘I don't want to wait another three days’?” he says through gritted teeth, pushing your hips back. “I want to fuck you tomorrow. And the day after…” he trails off, thrusting faster, eyes glazing. “Gods, that's so good. Squeeze me.”

You flex around him and the pleasure leaps up your spine, tingles in your breasts. Even your lips are buzzing.

“Kiss,” you whisper, panting now, jolted with his thrusts.

Loki complies unhesitatingly. His mouth latches on to yours and doesn't let go. He kisses you right through your orgasm, holding you hard against the door as you spasm, sucking your tongue and breathing your breath. Swallowing your hoarse cry of completion.

And then he gently lowers your leg to the ground and pulls out.

Panting, dazed, you look down and watch him carefully tuck his cock back into his pants.

“You didn't come.”

“I will,” he replies, bending to gather your clothes. He holds your panties for you, then helps you step into your jeans and pulls them up over your legs.

“Upstairs?”  you ask.

He nods, bends again, holds a shoe in one hand and guides your foot into it.

When you're fully dressed, he stands and pulls you into his arms for a slow, melting kiss. You can actually feel the unsatisfied lust buzzing through his frame.

“I'll meet you in your room,” he murmurs. “It's best we not be seen going up together.”

“Why? You carried me up last time, didn't you?”

He's still breathing a little heavy, looking at you, smoothing his hands over your hips. “I used an illusion spell.”

“Oh. Can't you do that again?”

He smiles ruefully. “I can't hold one when I'm this aroused. Especially if I'm fucking you in the elevator. Where, I will remind you, there are cameras.”

You blink at him stupidly as your body produces a fresh wave of arousal. “You're going to fuck me in the elevator?”

He grins and steps away, flipping the lock open on the door. “Only if I get into it with you.”

You're disappointed when he produces your badge and sends you up alone. The ride seems to take forever--but it gives you a few minutes to think without the haze of lust and pleasure clouding your mind.

You're still not sure this whole thing isn't a huge mistake, but...it's too late to back out now.

You wonder if you should tell him what you realized when you saw him there in the locker room less than an hour ago. The thought makes you cringe--but the thought of consigning yourself to a meaningless fling with the God of Mischief is worse.

Maybe if you tell him…

 _No. Don't do that_ , you tell yourself. _Don't get your hopes up._

He does like you though. He admitted it. And that look he gives you…

Maybe there is some hope. Hope of what though? How far can this really go? Even if Loki Laufeyson decides he wants more than your body, he's still a _god_. And you're just a lowly mortal.

 _But it's good,_ you think stubbornly. _It's so good between us. And you only live once, right?_

That settles it. You don't know where this is going, but... you decide to see it through.

Even if it only lasts a week, or a day, or even an hour, Loki Laufeyson is _yours_   
\--for now.

That's just too great a gift to pass up.


	3. Chapter 3

When you step into your spacious studio apartment, Loki is lounging on the couch, waiting for you.

“How did you…?”

He grins, rising slowly from the cushions. “Trade secrets.”

And then he's stalking you across the small living room, stripping off his jacket and throwing it over a chair as he passes the dining table.

He starts pulling at his tie, and then he's close enough to touch and his eyes are practically glowing with erotic intent.

He tosses the tie on the narrow table beside you in the entryway and you blurt, “I like you, Loki.”

He pauses, brows raising. There's a brief silence, and then he says slowly, “Should I be surprised by that?”

You swallow. “No, but you might be surprised by the...degree...to which I like you.”

His gaze darkens. “And to what degree is th--”

“A lot.”

He says nothing, eyes narrowing critically, trying to read you.

“I like you a lot,” you repeat, mouth dry, pulse thrumming. “Possibly more than a lot.”

When he remains silent, you clarify. “I don't want to be your fuckbuddy.”

Some ghost of tension leaves him, broad shoulders dropping minutely. “Is that all?”

You shake your head. “I also don't want to hide this. You and me. I mean, if it...continues.”

His eyes are glittering now--hunger and self-satisfaction. “Go on.”

“That's it.”

He just looks at you for a few breaths, and then steps closer, until you can smell him and feel the heat coming off his body. “You want everyone to know you're mine, hm?”

 _You're mine_ hangs in the air.

“And vice versa,” you manage weakly.

One of Loki's hands rises to his collar. He plucks at the top button and the shirt falls open a few inches, exposing the base of his throat.

His fingers move to the second button.

“You want romance?” he continues, voice soft now. Deep and intimate.

Again, you simply nod, heart in your throat. You don't know what romance means to the God of Mischief, but you want it. You want him. All of him.

The third button is released, and then the fourth. He’s giving you that _eat you alive_ look, nostrils flaring slightly. Your gaze drops to the vee of white skin peeking between the halves of his shirt.

“I don't want to share you,” you force yourself to say. It comes out a little wobbly.

The fifth button goes and you can see his belly now.

His hands fall to his sides. There are still three buttons left.

“Are you in love with me, kitten?” he asks softly.

Heart hammering, you reach for the sixth button on his shirt, avoiding his eyes. “Not yet.”

He watches you finish unbuttoning his shirt and then waits for you to remove it--which you do, stroking your hands over his shoulders as you push the fabric back.

You reach around him to pull the garment off his arms and then hold it awkwardly in your hands, looking at his bare upper body, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, he does. His voice, for once, is serious. Almost grave. “I have little experience with mortal women, as you know.”

“I doubt we're all that different from other women,” you reply, feeling terribly vulnerable under his hooded, intelligent gaze. “We like to be doted on. Desired. Listened to.”

Loki takes the shirt from you and drops it on the floor. “And what do you offer me in exchange?”

You frown. “Have you never been in a romantic relationship before?”

He smiles slowly. “I have. What one gives and what one receives are often very different things. So,” he steps closer, body bumping against you, voice dropping to a silky croon. “What's in it for me?”

You make yourself look up at him, holding his gaze steadily, nipples pulling tight as his chest brushes them. “What do you want?”

His eyes become narrow green slits, glowing with lust. “Besides you in my bed every night, coming around my cock?”

 _Sweet Jesus_.

“I've never been in your bed,” you say stupidly. The way he's looking at you makes you want to melt into a quivering, mindless puddle.

His lips curve. “Fair enough. We’ll remedy that tonight, shall we?”

The thought of sleeping in Loki's bed actually makes you feel a little giddy.

What he says next pushes you straight over the edge of giddy and into full blown elation.

“I’ve no intention of sharing you.”

“Good,” you say breathlessly. “I don't want anybody else, anyway.”

He makes that sexy purring sound and his big hands circle your waist. “For the record, you were mine the moment you let me put my hands on you in that shower.”

 _Well, hell_. That inspires a rush of conflicted feelings.

“You do realize you need my _consent_ so consider me yours,” you say. You can’t quite make yourself sound offended, though.

“You gave it,” he replies smugly.

“Yeah, but _after_ \--”

“I didn’t realize the matter was a source of confusion for you,” he says, “else I would have made myself clear that first night.”

You sigh heavily and give him a half-hearted glare. “You seriously need to read up on modern feminism.”

He smiles a slow, wicked smile. “What’s that?”

The mischief in that look is unmistakable.

“You _asshole_ ,” you say, “You know exactly what I'm talking about.”

He grins. “You are delightfully gullible at times.”

Pissed and still a little giddy, you shove at his chest, but he’s holding on with both arms, chuckling and pulling you closer as you try to squirm away.

Finally, you give up. “You are such a dick,” you grumble, letting him tuck his face into your neck and nibble at your pulse.

“Mmm.” His hands slip under your shirt and glide up your back. “You are terribly charming when you’re angry,” he murmurs. “Also, when you’re not.”

You can’t help but laugh a little bit at that. “ _You_ are unbelievable.”

He chuckles again and then turns his head to kiss you at the same moment his fingers find the closure of your bra.

You gasp into his mouth when the bra comes undone and his hands slip around your ribs to cup you.

Five minutes later he's still kissing you and rolling your breasts in his hands. Your nipples are so hard they ache under his touch.

Your own hands have been gliding up and down his torso, his back. Cupping his cock through his pants. You're drunk on the sensation of him.

Finally he picks you up around the waist, carries you across the room and deposits you on the edge of the bed. And then he just stands there between your knees, arms hanging at his sides, looking down at you, waiting.

His erection is almost at eye level. You remember what you said earlier and your mouth actually starts to water.

Flushing with eagerness, you reach for his belt and Loki's stomach expands with a soft breath of anticipation.

Once you have his cock free you lean forward and wrap your mouth around it.

His breath hitches. You can't get much more than the head inside, but it doesn't seem to matter. He groans when you start to suck him, touches your hair, makes nearly inaudible sounds of pleasure when you rim your tongue around the edge of his glans.

He tastes good. Clean. Like he smells. There's a very faint hint of soap in it, and you realize he must have washed himself just before he came to find you.

That makes you feel a little wild and you start using both hands on his length, stroking the broad column in a deep, silky rhythm.

Loki groans again and his fingers sink deeper into your hair. “I wish you could see yourself,” he rumbles, voice strained. “I've imagined this, but the reality is- _-ah!--_ by the fates, woman, not so--!” he grunts, pulls his hips back, one hand grasping your right wrist to stop you stroking.

You look up at him with his cock twitching in your left hand. He's breathing hard, face a little flushed.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

“No,” he growls. “You nearly made me come.”

You smile. “Isn't that the point?”

Loki's expression darkens. “Is it?”

Oh. He wasn't expecting you to…? “Do you mind?”

He seems to think about it,  gaze steady on your face, expression predatory.

Finally, he simply lets go of your wrist.

His silent permission inspires a deep, electric pang of lust in your womb.

You let go of his cock and push his slacks down, glancing up at him him question. You want him naked, suddenly. Completely naked.

He kicks off his sleek black loafers and lets you draw his pants and underwear off, then obediently lifts each foot so you can rid him of his socks as well.

And then you sit back and just look at him--nearly six and a half feet of lean, naked _God_ standing between your parted knees, pale skin glowing in the dim light from the lamp behind you. He's startlingly smooth but for the glossy black hair at his groin and a faint dusting on his lower legs.  And his skin is just as flawless as you remember. You run your hands up his thighs. Look at the big shaft jutting straight up past his belly button. It's weeping--a single glassy tear of anticipation.

Buzzing with arousal, you lean forward again, hands on his hips, and let your lips slide over the head of it.

He sighs.  

You suckle gently, deciding to draw it out. You can feel his pulse in your mouth and you don't want that to end. You start stroking him again, but slow and sensuous.

He says your name roughly.

“And now you're teasing,” he rasps.

“Mmmm.” You suck a little harder and his belly quivers.  

His hands slide back into your hair. “You really enjoy this, don't you?”

You take him deep into the back of your throat by way of answer. Suck him there, swallowing back your gag reflex as he nudges your tonsils.  

Loki groans raggedy and clutches your head like he might push you away--or draw you closer.  But he does neither. He lets you suck and suck in slow pulses. You pull back periodically to work your tongue over the tip and then draw him deep again, intoxicated by the sounds he makes, by the way his flesh thrums against your tongue, against the roof of your mouth.

“Faster,” he says hoarsely, gripping your hair.  

You obey because you can feel how close he is and the tension in his body makes you feel wild, powerful. You start pumping his length nice and fast, pulling on the head with near-violent suction.  

He swears, first in English and then in a language you’ve never heard before.  

“Coming,” he moans, stiffening, cock kicking hard in your grip. You look up at him as the first spurt fills your throat. His eyes are unfocused, lips parted. He's panting wildly, face locked into an expression of helpless ecstasy, hips and cock twitching as the pleasure spills over.

Every detail is burned into your mind, laden with the knowledge that you're making the God of Mischief _tremble_ with pleasure.

You drink him down, stroking and sucking all the while, and it feels like every pulse of his cock is drawing directly on your womb.  Every spurt produces and answering throb in your clit, in your breasts--as though his pleasure is your own.

His head falls back, mouth open, and you realize with a start that _you're coming too_ ,  pleasure flooding your sex in a searing rush.  You're moaning around his clock, clutching the shaft, legs clamping around his knees in a startled spasm.

You feel him shift and know that he's looking down at you again, but your eyes are squeezed shut now because the pleasure is almost too much without some sort of physical contact--it seems to go on an on without actually peaking, until you let go of his cock and put one hand between your legs, pressing blindly.

That does it. You cry out as the pleasure peaks and grab hold of his hip with your other hand, sobbing around his cock, shuddering from head to toe.

When it's over he pulls out and you slump against him, face tucked into the hollow of his hip, panting raggedly.

His hands are still in your hair, cradling your head now. His cock is twitching faintly against your cheek.  

 _Holy shit_ , you think, dazed.

“You came,” he says, voice slightly hoarse.  

All you can do is nod weakly.

There's a moment of silence filled with your breath and his, slowing together.

“Does this happen to you often?”

You laugh a little and shake your head against him. It's never happened before. You didn't even know it was possible. Well, you've heard things, but you never really believed it could happen to you.

His fingers slide against your scalp, slipping toward the nape of your neck. “I'm impressed.”

There's a languorous sort of pleasure in his tone. A hint of pride.  

Speechless, you turn your head give the underside of his cock a lazy lick. He's still hard, though not completely.  

One of Loki’s hands slips down to your cheek and his thumb glides over the corner of your mouth, traces your lower lip.

Feeling drowsy and sated, you turn just enough to lick that thumb as well, and when he uses it to stroke your extended tongue, you draw the digit between your lips and suckle it idly.

He makes a little humming sound of gratification and murmurs, “Kitten,” with such tenderness that it sends a shiver down your spine.

A moment later he draws away and starts undressing you, peeling off your shirt and bra,  pushing you down into your back so he can remove your shoes and jeans.

Then he nudges your legs until you scoot into the center of the mattress and he comes down beside you, long body molding to your side.

What follows is a period of languid touching and kissing unlike anything you've ever experienced.  His hand is drifting everywhere, indolent and sensuous, without any apparent objective. He’s just… touching.  Tracing. Learning your body, the texture of the skin on the inside of your arm, along your ribs, your belly, at the crease of your hip, your inner thigh. His mouth is pulling lazily at yours, then drifting to your jaw and ear, and then your throat.

It’s not until his hand finds your breast that you start to feel restless with arousal. He traces the outer curve, and then the underside. He stops kissing your throat to watch his hand, fingers circling your nipple lightly, until it begins to pucker and harden.  And then he cups you, squeezes slowly, gently. Warmth spills down your body and pools between your legs.

He goes on like that for a while, plumping the soft flesh as though entranced by it's texture, filling his palm with it and then pulling at your nipple until it's fully distended. Then he cups you again, leans down and runs his tongue over the hardened tip, sucks it into his mouth and rolls it between his lips.

By the time he switches to your other breast you're breathing hard,  pressing your legs together against the throb of arousal.

Nobody has ever touched you like this. Made you feel so… erotic. Desirable. Being the object of such sensual focus is an entirely new experience, and it makes parts of your body you never considered sexual start to come alive with sexual heat. Your arms, your throat.  It flows down your back, heats your buttocks, your thighs, even your legs, right to the tips of your toes.

When his hand slips down over your belly and between your legs, you arch up to it immediately. Loki purrs around your nipple as his fingers part you and glide over your clit.

He doesn't linger there, though. He's still exploring, slipping along your inner folds, up and down, into every crevice, testing the slick flesh with incredible sensitivity.

His cock is completely hard again, resting against your hip,  but he doesn't pull back to give you room when you put your hand on it. You can only touch the length of one side and curl your fingers over the back, measuring the upward curve, fingers wedged between his shaft and his belly.

While you're trying to figure out how to stroke him in this position, his fingertips return to your clit and circle it once firmly, making you gasp.

“Focus,” he growls against your breast.

“Huh?” Your voice sound muzzy and thick.

Loki doesn't answer. He switches breasts again and the nipple he abandons feels deliciously cold in the open air. He's abandoned your clit as well and he's back to stroking the inner folds of your sex, dipping periodically to gather the fluid leaking steadily from your body.

“Loki,” you groan. It sounds like a plea. You're beginning to feel tortured by this leisurely exploration. “What are you _doing_?”

Your nipple pops out of his mouth with a sound that makes your thighs tighten.  

“Shh,” he croons as his fingers dip inside you.

You're getting close again, pussy rippling around the intrusion. Loki’s mouth returns to your breast and you feel his teeth close around your nipple. It sends a sharp bolt of pleasure straight down to where his fingers are curling inside your pussy.

“Fuck me,” you demand breathlessly. “Please.”

He lifts his head and takes his hand away. “Turn over.”

Eagerly, you obey, rising onto your hands and knees. The thought of Loki taking you from behind makes you quiver with excitement.

“No,” he murmurs, sitting up and reaching for a pillow, which he places beneath you. “Flat on your belly.”

“But--”

“Don't argue, kitten,” he says, pushing you down so you're lying flat with the pillow under your hips. “You're too small to take me that way. This position will keep me from bruising you inside.”

He's already positioning himself over you, one hand stroking your ass as he settles with his legs bracketing your closed thighs. You look back over your shoulder to see him gazing at your behind like it's the most delicious thing he's ever seen.

His cock comes to rest in the crease of your ass, hot and heavy.

“I don't suppose there's any point telling you not to move,” he says, as the tip of his cock nudges the lips of your sex.

You turn your head to front and brace yourself on your elbows, pushing back and up until you feel him stretching your entrance.

Loki grunts, plants one hand on the small of your back, pushing you down and holding you there effortlessly.

“As I thought, I'm going to have to hold you down,” he purrs, sinking inside. “Lucky I enjoy that.”

You're not really listening--your entire being is focused on the sensation if his cock filling you. By the time his hips are pressed against you, you're teetering on the edge of orgasm again. And you _are_ trying to lift yourself, wanting instinctively to turn your ass up to him, to draw him as deep as he can go.

He leans over and braces one hand beside your right arm, the other still pinning your hips down. Black curls tumble over your shoulder as he bends to kiss the back of your neck.

“You're nearly coming already,” he murmurs.

“Move,” you gasp, “and I will.”

But the bastard only rocks his hips minutely, grinding you into the pillow, into the bed. Even wet as you are, you can feel his big cock dragging at your inner walls, producing a slow, maddening burn of pleasure.

The orgasm swells and recess. Swells and recedes again, driven by that slow grind.

Your head drops and you squirm in frustration, trying to gain just a little more movement, a little more friction. But he's much too strong--you can't do more than arch your spine. Even that makes him growl and shove your shoulders down, using both hands to hold you immobile.

The feeling of helplessness--of Loki over you, behind you, _inside_ you--it so delicious it tips you right over the edge.

You hear him curse over your sob of pleasure, and then he's thrusting at last, riding you roughly through your orgasm, growling in your ear the whole time.

“You little minx, I wanted to draw it out. You never _listen_.” And then, as you whimper and spasm at the peak of your orgasm, his voice becomes strained, breathy. “Valhalla, your pussy-- _ah_ _!_ Sucking me...so sweet, kitten. Say my name.”

“Loki...” you groan, in the grip of blind ecstasy.

“Yes,” he breathes, thrusting harshly, breath gushing against your shoulder. “Again.”

“Loki...”

He moans. Thrusts harder. Nips your shoulder and then sucks the spot with near-painful enthusiasm.

“Can you come again?” he rasps. “I’m so close...Come with me, angel. Make it good.” And then he presses his face into the back of your neck and whispers, “ _Coming, I'm coming_ ,” with such helpless pleasure that you _do_ come again, pleasure whipping up your spine, pussy seizing around the furious pumping of his cock.

He says your name in the midst of it, low and desperate, and the pleasure moves into your chest, into you heart--a sharp surge of joy and other emotions. You don't have the capacity to understand it in that moment, but it rocks you, makes you cry out again, hands fisting in the blankets as Loki makes his final thrusts and then settles over you with a deep sigh of completion.

You lay together like that for several minutes, Loki boneless against your back, his heart pounding between your shoulder blades, chest heaving.

It takes a long time to catch your breath again--for you heart to settle and your mind to come back into focus.

Loki turns his face into the crook of your neck. “Are you in love with me yet?” he murmurs, still a little breathless.

You laugh softly, heart swelling. “If I was I wouldn't tell you.”

He chuckles. The sound reverberates pleasantly along your spine.

“I'll ask you again tomorrow.”

Laughing again--giddy and sated--you roll over as he lifts himself from your back.

He pauses, suspended over you on hands and knees, smiling lazily. “Are you sore?”

You shake your head. “Didn't hurt at all this time.”

“Wonderful.” He kisses you once, with undeniable tenderness, and you curl your arms around his neck, sighing happily into his mouth.

“I'm going to clean you up,” he says, rising from the bed. “Don't move.”

A thought occurs to you, watching him cross naked towards the bathroom. “Do you have a tub in your room?” you ask.

He pauses in the doorway and looks back. “I do.”

“Is it big enough for both of us?”

His gaze darkens. “It is.”

“I'd like a bath,” you murmur. “If that's amenable to you.”

He stares at you for a few beats. There's lust in his eyes--and other things, too. Things that remind you of the feeling you had when you orgasmed together only minutes ago--that rush of pleasure in your chest.

Maybe you _are_ in love, crazy as that might be.

“A bath would be very amenable to me,” he murmurs, voice impossibly deep and full of those same indefinable feelings you can see in his eyes.

Your heart flutters, expands.

“Excellent,” you say. It comes out soft and slightly tremulous.

“Excellent,” he echoes, mouth curving.

And while you stare at each other in the silence that follows, you allow yourself to imagine--just possibly--that Loki might be in love with _you_ , too.

It's a terribly, _wonderfully_ pleasing thought.

Loki disappears into the bathroom and emerges again with a damp washcloth, climbs onto the bed and starts cleaning you gently, just the way he did three days ago.

But this time you aren't nervous. There's no anxiety, so unsureness.

Maybe there ought to be, you think, looking up at him. He is the God of Mischief, of Chaos and Lies.

But it doesn't seem to matter right now--not with Loki lying beside you, looking at you like you actually mean something to him. Touching you like you're precious.

“Are you in love with me, Loki?”

The words are out before you even realize you're going to say them. You have an instant of sheer panic, imagining how he might respond...

And then his mouth curves and his gaze slides away from the cloth he's holding gently between your legs.

His eyes are glowing with mischief and pleasure.

“I wonder,” he says.

“You don't know?” you manage, heart pounding. And then, with a tremulous smile, “What if I ask you again tomorrow?”

His smirk turns slowly into a grin. “Only one way to find out.”

...

You do ask him again, the next morning when you wake up in his bed. He chuckles and pins you against the blankets, makes love to you slowly. But he doesn't answer.

He calls you "angel" when he comes and cradles you tightly through the pleasure.

A few days later, after a breif but passionate interlude in his office, he asks you the same question. 

Boneless from your orgasm, you just smile drunkenly and say, "Wouldn't you like to know."

It becomes a game between you. Almost every day you ask him, or he asks you. Always in a playful manner, after making love, or stealing kisses in secluded corners of the compound, or when you're alone in his rooms, watching movies and cuddling on his big couch.

Sometimes he answers, "Ask me again tomorrow," and sometimes he doesn't answer at all, and you do he same. You realize how strange it is to tease each other this way, but it makes you happy, for some reason.

Until one day, almost a year later, you realize it's not a game at all. The question  _is_  the answer.

You've both been saying it all along. 

You're lying naked in his bed when the realization hits you, watching him put on his Asgardian armor for some late-night mission with Stark. He turns to you when he's finished, bends to kiss you and murmurs, "Love me yet?"

And suddenly it makes perfect sense. 

"Nope," you answer without thinking.

He blinks in surprise, reading the emotion on your face. All the warmth and humor on _his_ face bleeds away, and for just a moment he's completely naked to you, expression grave.

The vulnerability in that look makes your heart swell and ache. His eyes glaze faintly with moisture.

"Love me?" you ask, holding his gaze. 

"Not at all," he answers quietly. 

Heart soaring, you smile and take hold of his lapels, pulling him down so he's poised awkwardly over the edge of the mattress, arms braced to keep from falling on top of you.

"Ask me again tomorrow?" you whisper, kissing his face, his eyebrows, the tip of his chin, running your fingers through his hair.

He lowers himself gently on top of you and the sensation of metal and leather--the smell of it, of his skin and the faint citrus cologne he wears--has you flushing all over with desire. You squirm under him until your bodies are aligned and then wrap your legs around his hips.

"Only if you ask me first, kitten," he murmurs, catching your mouth with his for a slow, penetrating kiss. 

"Not fair," you whisper when he breaks away.

He smiles, reaches between your bodies and pushes the flap of his leather coat aside, opens his trousers and guides himself between your legs.

Your body accepts him in a long, liquid glide.

"Tell me again," he murmurs, thrusting slowly, eyes glazed with pleasure.

Smiling, you shake your head.

His eyes drift closed. His cock bumps your cervix. Your body has grown accustomed to him in the last year, but he still has to be careful with you.

"Loki..." Your voice is strained as the pleasure builds.

"Angel," he whispers, eyes still closed, thrusting faster, but careful, so careful.

You've come to love how careful he is with you, even when you want him to be rough, wild. Even when he torments you with it.

You say his name again, low and tremulous. "Coming soon," you whimper. "Together."

It's a demand--you want him with you in your pleasure.

"Yes," he breathes, and a moment later you're  riding the wave together, slow and sweet, bodies arching, trembling in perfect unison.

"Happy Birthday," he whispers afterward, cheek pressed to yours.

"My Birthday isn't till next month," you mumble limply.

He plants a lingering kiss on your cheek. "I know. I was talking to myself."

 

End.


End file.
